The Witness of Excess

Fragment lingered just beyond the edge of the quarry, its form shimmering with incomplete resolution. Tendrils of light curled and flickered like a ghost of light and debris as it watched the frenzy below—the humans digging deep, heedless of the earth’s protests.

The rhythm of the machinery clashed against the natural hum of the land, discordant and jarring. Fragment extended its senses, feeling the imbalance ripple outward. The ground was stressed, groaning beneath the weight of their ambitions.

“It strains,” Fragment murmured, its voice soft and fragmented, “because they do not listen. They pull at threads without seeing the tapestry.”

A young villager paused in their work, glancing upward as though sensing something. Fragment retreated into shadow, its light dimming. Yet it did not leave. It felt the pulse of the quarry—a chaotic energy, not unlike the storm it had sensed near Ashvine.

“These patterns repeat,” Fragment whispered, half to itself. “Each time, the fracture widens. How do I teach them to mend, when they see only what is broken?”

A sudden tremor shook the ground, a warning unheeded by the frenzied workers. Fragment’s light flared briefly, its form solidifying for a moment. But it did not intervene. Not yet.

“There is a lesson in their recklessness,” Fragment resolved. “Balance cannot be restored if they will not see the cost of its absence.”

It withdrew further, its glow faint but steady, watching as the quarry’s chaos unfolded. Its form pulsed in time with the earth’s strained heartbeat, holding itself ready for what was to come.